A Sorcerer Among Shinigami
by Roselite xoxo
Summary: After Irene commits suicide, her soul passes on to the Soul Society where, after 400 years, she is wholly human again. And although her humanity is restored, Irene is all but a shadow of the woman she used to be. With the help of a certain few shinigami, she must navigate the politics of the afterlife as she travels the long road to healing and self-rediscovery.
1. Chapter One

**I don't know where this story came from, but here it is. I have to warn you: updates won't be frequent. I'm not an expert when it comes to Bleach, so I gotta catch up on the manga before I really dive into the story. Anyway, thanks for reading . Happy holidays, and Happy New Year!**

**Warning: I have a deep love for complex sentences. **

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"_At long last…I will have a new life…"_

_Irene stared at her newborn with warped fascination, more desperate opportunist than loving mother._

_Her body—this cursed, useless lump of flesh she'd been waiting nine months to shed—ached with the aftershock of childbirth, but Irene was numb to the pain. She sat on the rocky bank of a crystal-clear stream, its gentle serenade clashing with the cacophony of thoughts overpowering her mind._

_Her child, swaddled in the clean blanket a woman from the village had been generous enough to give, slept soundly, completely oblivious to her impending fate. She had no idea her body was about to be stolen from her._

_Irene cradled her child protectively, studying her features and comparing them to her own. The little one's hair was red just like her mother's—a little lighter, but red nonetheless—and her chubby face was nearly angelic with that unfeigned innocence only a baby could possess. She was a replica of Irene, much to the woman's relief. She didn't know what she would've done had the child come out looking like that man instead, but it was pointless to think about that now. The only thing that mattered was that her new body was here, healthy, and a spitting image of her old one. All she had to do now was simply enchant her soul into it…_

No, Irene.

_There it was again, that pesky little voice that'd been nibbling at her conscious for nine months now. Somehow, a sliver of the Old Irene had managed to survive those years of torment and humiliation and was now protesting against her plans._

_Irene willed it into silence. She couldn't afford to hesitate—not now. "I've suffered for over four hundred years," she muttered to herself, "I've _earned _this chance." _She_ was the one who'd protected this child in spite of her own pain and suffering, _she _was the one who'd sheltered and nourished her in her womb for centuries. She'd sacrificed everything for this child, so she had the right to do whatever she wanted with her. Even if it meant stealing her youth, her life._

_Irene hardened her heart, refusing to listen to reason. Finally, after four painful centuries, she could be _human _again. Only a fool would forfeit such a golden opportunity. All it would take was a simple enchantment and her soul would be born anew, her life would be worth living again—_

_At that moment, the baby opened her eyes._

_Irene went deathly still._

_At the sight of her mother, the baby's clear, conscious eyes twinkled and her little lips played into a cute, precious—_

_Smile._

_Irene felt as if someone had struck her with a rod._

"_S-stop smiling," she whispered, the corners of her eyes stinging. In a sense, she felt betrayed. How could this child have the audacity to smile when her mother was so clearly miserable? Could she not sense her pain? Was she mocking her? "Stop smiling!" ordered Irene, voice wobbling._

_The baby would not._

"_Stop smiling!" Just seeing the child's smile reminded Irene of the better days, when she was actually capable of happiness. All she wanted was to feel something other than pain and sorrow—why was this child laughing at her despair? "Stop smiling!" shrieked Irene, arms trembling and tears overflowing. She was suddenly overwhelmed by distorted senses of guilt, grief, anger, longing, and love, her emotions blurring into each other until they became one indistinguishable shape. She couldn't recognize herself anymore. _

"_Stop smiling, stop smiling, _stop smiling_—"_

….

It was Irene's turn to smile as she drove the blade clean through her abdomen.

The sound of steel puncturing her innards was grotesque, sickeningly final, but she did not hear it. The blood—_her _blood—was pouring out of the wound like a red fountain, but she did not bat an eye at it. Her death was set in stone, written by her own hands, yet she was not afraid. Why would she be? Life as she knew it had ended centuries ago and she had nothing else to live for. She didn't know why she'd bothered to carry on in the first place.

Erza, who lay immobilized on the other side of the battlefield, managed to lift her head against the pain of a dozen shattered bones, eyes swimming with question and confusion. She just stared at her adversary, rendered speechless by the unexpected turn of events. Rattled by the fact her opponent had chosen to bury the blade in her own flesh rather than seize victory. Even the little Dragonslayer, who had every right to be pleased by this outcome, looked horrified.

The moment of silence that followed was almost theatrical, pronounced by a phantom wind that howled hollowly as the three of them processed this unforeseen conclusion to their battle.

The corners of Irene's mouth tugged up into the faintest of smirks—she was humored even on the brink of death. "…how pathetic," she said to herself more than anyone; the irony of the situation was lost on the others. "…even the Scarlet Despair is incapable of killing her own daughter…"

She wretched the sword—her daughter's sword—out of her middle with hands that were oddly steady before tossing it aside as if it were no more than an old broomstick. The weapon clattered out of reach, its silver straight streaked with wet crimson.

Her strength, her _life,_ was escaping her by the second and Irene did not fight it. When her legs could no longer support her weight, they crumpled and she sunk to her knees, the blood-stained earth digging into her skin.

All Erza could do was stare at Irene in incredulity, her face a portrait of perplexity. She resembled Young Irene so much it was almost painful to look at her. "Wh-why?" the knight asked, voice raw and raspy.

Irene was sitting in a pool of her own blood now. "Good question," she said, each breath more laborious than the last. Her head was light as a feather and black spots were starting to dot her vision—she was dying fast, but the former Queen of Dragons was strangely at peace. This was a long time coming, she figured. Ever since that dreadful Dragon Seed took root in her body and transformed her life into a living nightmare, she'd been fated to end her life at some point. "Though I've refused to acknowledge it up until now—" She coughed up blood. "—the truth is…I didn't enchant myself into you because I couldn't…I simply chose not to."

The Scarlet Despair found herself reflecting on her life, as cliché as it sounded. When on the brink of death, it was impossible not to revisit the past, to dwell on old memories while you still had them. "As desperate as I was, I couldn't bring myself to harm my child," she said with a slight smile as the blood continued to leak out of her. "You were just so new, so innocent, and…so beautiful…"

A compilation of her best memories danced before her eyes. _Belserion, her kingdom and its culture, her youth—_

"I knew you would never be safe with me, so I chose to abandon you before I could change my mind," continued Irene, knowing she had all but a few moments left. She felt herself swaying, loosing feeling in her limbs. "I'm not so naïve to think you'd believe me after all I've done…"

—_her subjects, their laughter, the dragons—_

"…but deep down…." Irene was falling forward now, death claiming this miserable shell at last. "…in this black, empty heart of mine…"

—_and Baby Erza._

"…I truly loved you."

Irene was still smiling when she landed flat on her face, her body kissing the earth. She couldn't feel it anymore—ironic, because that was what she'd wanted all along. "I really did," she whispered to herself, taking her final breath before letting go completely. There was nothing left for her in this world so she surrendered herself to the darkness, allowing it to usher her to the next one. Her body slackened, becoming no more than an empty husk as her soul earned its wings and took flight, fluttering free at last.

Free at last.

….

Irene couldn't remember falling asleep but next thing she knew, she was waking up from what felt like a deep slumber.

As consciousness came trickling back, she slowly reawaked into her senses. The first thing she noticed was the warm breeze caressing her face and then the soft, dry earth cushioning her body. She was lying on the ground, she realized when the mossy smells of the wilderness swelled in her nose.

She strained her ears to hear the rustling of leaves, prompting her to peel her eyelids open. Though there was a thin layer of haze coating her vision, she was able to make out the green, blurry silhouettes of the canopy swaying overhead. A forest.

Irene blinked the haze away, the ceiling of vibrant green coming into clearer focus. There were patches of blue in the breaks in-between leaves—the sky—and sunlight speared through them in buttery beams.

Irene sat up, confused. She scanned her surroundings, taking note of the dirt and tangles of undergrowth. The forest stretched out all around her, empty in all its lushness. None of it was familiar, so how did...?

Her confusion invoked a series of fragmented memories and before Irene could further question her predicament, she was suddenly swept away by a tidal wave of recollections. In that instant, she relived the last moments leading up to her blackout: Alvarez's war against the Fairies, an intense battle against her daughter and the little Dragonslayer, her body swap with the latter. It all came back to her at once.

But wait.

If memory served her correctly, her final battle ended with a fatal stab to the abdomen—a blow she'd delivered. The wound…it'd been too severe for her to survive. She vividly recalled bleeding out before the blackness embraced her, meaning…she died. She had to have. But if she was dead, that could only mean this was—

The afterlife.

The magnitude of that prospect punched through Irene and she surveyed the verdant environment again, seeing it in new light. Was this truly the spirit world, the promised life after death? Irene's stomach clenched tight so tight she could barely breathe. It was a good thing she was sitting down; otherwise, the enormity of the situation would've surely knocked her off her feet.

_The afterlife. _The word resonated in her head over and over like a church bell and though she was here, in this mysterious world beyond the darkness of death, her heart inflated with disbelief. When she inflicted that lethal blow on herself, she'd admit she briefly thought of Hell. After abandoning her daughter, selfishly leaving her to her fate in a cruel world that disfavored children—not to mention the fiendish acts she'd committed as a commander in the Alvarez Army—a part of her had been expecting to wind up in the underworld as punishment for her crimes. But no, whatever god or higher power that'd overseen her passing had showed mercy on her soul and sent her here instead.

Finally, after over four hundred years of yearning for another chance at life, she had it at last and there was no gift more precious.

Her bottom lip began to quiver. After forsaking Erza, she'd refused to shed another tear but now that she was in the moment, she did not discourage the oncoming tears. For the first time in years, she wept openly, the emotions she'd bottled up for decades pouring out in a river she couldn't stop. She became so caught up in them, her sense of time slipped away and the forest became no more than a backdrop.

Irene had no idea how long she sat there and sobbed but a considerable amount of time passed before she returned to her senses and got a grip on herself. Sniffling, she wiped the tears away, somewhat embarrassed by her uncharacteristic outburst. She'd never been one to openly display her emotions and now was not the time or place to become sentimental. Even if it was the afterlife, she was still a newcomer in strange, uncharted territory. She couldn't afford to lower her guard or lose her focus, especially when she was in such a difficult position. All sentiment aside, there was no ignoring the fact she was a woman without food or shelter. Gone were the luxuries of the Alvarez Empire; she had nothing now. And unless she set out to change that, this wouldn't be as much of a reprieve as she imagined.

Once she regained her bearings, Irene rose to her feet and it was then she realized her hair was loose. No longer was in bound in the braids she'd worn back on Earthland , flowing down to her waist in a waterfall of red that grazed the fabric of her clothes.

Speaking of her clothes, when Irene looked down at herself, she discovered she was no longer donning the garb she'd gone to battle in. It'd been replaced by a plain grey kimono that was cinched at the waist by a solid-white obi. The garment was coupled with a pair of woven sandals, no more than thin strips of material that barely protected her feet from the filth of the forest floor.

Huh. What an odd choice of clothing. Childish as it may be, she'd been expecting something more...angelic, like free-flowing silk robes. Still, she wasn't disappointed; when one was fortunate enough to be spared from the dark abyss that was the underworld, it didn't matter if you were wearing even a potato sack.

The woman brushed the dirt off her new robe before looking around indecisively. She had no idea how deep in the forest she was, or which direction led to civilization. Judging by the position of the sun, it was around midday so she didn't have time to wander around like a stray cat lest she found herself trapped in this foreign place when night befell.

Roaming about would consume a great amount of time and energy but fortunately, Irene had a more productive way of familiarizing herself with her surroundings. She instinctively lifted her face to the sky, rallying her ethernano into a single conjuration. _Eye Magic_, she mentally called to the spell, prompting a shadow to fall over the forest as a giant eyeball materialized in the sky. It hovered there, acting as an extension of Irene's vision as everything in its line of sight became visible to her.

From its vantage point, she had an aerial view of the forest. Apparently, she was on the outskirts of it because it stretched onward in three directions for miles. However, to the south, a cluster of settlements sprawled along the edge of the woodland not far from her current position. The squat structures dominated the land as a mass of wooden roofs, extending toward the horizon further than her magic eye could see.

Satisfied with these results, Irene deactivated the spell before it could start eating away her magic power. Make no mistake: she had lots of it left—her strength had been reborn as well as her body—but she needed to conserve as much as possible just in case she found herself in unfavorable circumstances. This might've been the sacred afterlife, but Irene knew nothing of its dynamics. It could be ridden with dangers and challenges of its own.

Even so, Irene was not worried. If anything she was...eager. Excited, even. After centuries of residing in a cursed vessel, she could finally reenter society as a normal woman. While it was true she'd never get back the young years she'd lost when everything went to hell, she could try to make up for it with the countless ones she'd been granted. Her future was infinite and there were no limits to what she could accomplish. After four hundred years of being shackled in a dragon's body, she was finally free. Nothing was holding her back now.

A foreign emotion—something akin to hope—bloomed insider of her and she allowed herself to smile. "Irene Belserion has been reborn," she whispered, the finality of that truth sweet as honey on her tongue.

With newfound aspiration, she recollected herself and headed south, setting out to start her new life.


	2. Chapter Two

**A/n: Sorry for such a late update. The world is completely different than it was back when I published this story. I apologize if this chapter's boring; I promise the next one will be way more eventful ;)**

**Also, I'm not that knowledgeable when it comes to Bleach so if I've misused some of its terminology, please tell me so I can correct it ASAP. Thank you! **

**Another note: Rating may change in the near future.  
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The walk to the village was oddly nostalgic.

Irene couldn't help but recall that fateful day she encountered His Majesty during her exile as a dragon. She remembered how elated she'd been when he compressed her scaled body back into her "human" form. Moved to tears by the return of her feminine figure, Irene had sprinted to the nearby stream to check her reflection—imagine her joy when she saw the face of Irene the Woman instead of Irene the Sage Dragon! Overjoyed to be "human" once again, she'd wasted no time in racing to the closest village so she could finally interact with her "kind" after centuries of exile.

Now, on her way to a different village in a different world, Irene stopped to check her reflection in a different stream.

A red-haired woman stared back, her face erased of the cuts and bruises that'd been inflicted during the fight with Erza and the dragonslayer. A part of her had hoped her youth would be restored, but she looked just as middle-aged as she had prior to dying. Irene didn't mind—just looking like herself was enough.

She was a woman in a foreign world with a destiny unknown to her and yet, she was strangely at peace. She felt no strife or worry as she carefully rolled up her sleeves and reached down into the stream, gathering water into cupped hands. She kept her hands suspended there for a moment, marveling at the wetness against her palms. She'd almost forgotten how easily simulated human senses were.

After another moment of relishing in this sensation, she brung her face closer to the stream and splashed water on her face, washing away any dirt that might've latched on to it. Now that's she wakened into a fresh set of senses, the feel of the liquid on her skin was extremely refreshing.

While she had the stream to act as a mirror, Irene took her time and separated her hair into four thick sections, which she then styled into loose braids. When one had just woken up in the sacred afterlife, the condition of one's hair should've been a trivial matter, but Irene's affinity for braids dated back to her younger days, and there were some aspects of her former identity she wanted to preserve.

And while her appearance was the object of her attention, she fiddled with her obi until the top of her robe hung open. She'd always liked flaunting her girls and considering her situation, a casual display of her cleavage might win a few favors.

Once she was satisfied with her appearance, Irene rose to her feet and continued her walk toward the village.

There was something strange about this world, Irene noted as she stepped over tree roots that were like thick, muscular snakes. Not in appearance, but in atmosphere. Though it was hard to put the feeling into words, the air felt...thicker. Heavier. There was a strange substance lacing the air, one that didn't feel quite like ethernano. This was different—stronger, even.

Irene didn't dwell on it long; her attention shifted back to her surroundings when the trees suddenly parted to accentuate a road. To even call it a road was an exaggeration; there were no pavers, just a distinct stretch of dirt that was a result of countless feet stamping the grass into nonexistence. Seeing that the path was well-traveled, Irene figured it must've led straight to the village. She followed it eagerly, a new sense of ambition swelling inside her.

It wasn't long before she encountered other people on the road. They wore robes similar to hers, though theirs were more worn and threadbare around the edges. Irene regarded them curiously and they returned her looks with suspicion, not bothering to address her since they recognized her as a newcomer. If they were scared or skeptical, Irene didn't know—nor did she care. She simply kept to the far side of road, making eye contact with everyone she came across until they struggled to match the intensity of her gaze. Any other traveler would've kept their eyes downcast, but not Irene. She'd been on the receiving end of too many hateful glares to be so easily intimidated.

Eventually, the trees started to thin out, yielding to the first structures of the village. Set unappealingly close together, they were unlike any building Irene had seen on Earthland, characterized by wooden verandas and scalloped roofs. A few were starting to fall into disrepair, contradicting the World of the Living's belief that all those fortunate to make it to the blessed afterlife would be gifted with grand mansions. These buildings were far from grand, most of them decayed to the point it would be almost impossible to revive them through normal means. The poor conditions of the houses didn't seem to bother the occupants of the village; people of all ages sat under the lantern-adored overhangs, conversing with their neighbors with lively excitement.

As Irene walked by, everyone turned their heads in her direction before quickly angling them away, making a point of gossiping about her in hushed whispers. A few children even stopped running about to stand and stare at her, their eyes brimming with the same curiosity and cynicism that tinged their parents'. Irene paid them no mind as she proceeded along the dirt road, absorbing every square inch of her new surroundings. What an odd place she'd wound up in.

"...I don't know how you missed it. It was _huge_!" she overheard a boy exclaiming to his friends.

"...when I looked up, a giant eye was looking straight at me!" another was saying excitedly.

The corner of Irene's mouth tugged into a smirk. It seemed her Magic Eye had caused quite the panic.

It wasn't long before the path led her into the village's shabby version of a town square, which was just an empty expanse of space. There were even more people there, all of them abuzz with animated chatter. Ignoring their looks, Irene scanned the plaza, eyes settling on a particular cart supplied with bright, ruby-red fruit.

It was then she took notice of the soft rumbling in the pit of her stomach—she was hungry and suddenly desiring one of those plump, juicy apples. But there was one problem: she didn't have any money. Seeing that the food merchant was male, Irene's feminine charm might've been make up for her lack of currency…

"I take it you're willing to part with one of those delicious apples," she drawled as she strode over in his direction, prompting him to turn in her direction. It was an effort not to smirk when his eyes found her cleavage. No matter how much time passed, men would always be the same.

"Only if you have payment," the scruffy, sleazy-looking man said in return, still eyeing her chest.

One enchantment would have him at her mercy, but Irene wouldn't resort to using her magic, especially not on an individual as worthless as this. He did not deserve such an honor. "Unfortunately, it seems I've left my purse at home. Perhaps you'd be willing to show a little generosity." She said this flirtatiously, a hand drifting down to graze the skin of her exposed breast.

Lust flashed in the man's eyes—Irene could see it addling his mind. As she expected, he handed her one of those plump apples, a near-toothless smile blooming on his face. "Ya know, I've always had a thing for redheads," he said, that leering expression of his anything but seductive.

Irene wasn't listening; she was too focused on the red, plump jewel in her hands. Despite it only being an apple, threads of anxiety ran through her. This was a significant moment. Her cursed body back on Earthland hadn't been capability of registering taste—but perhaps her spiritual one was. One measly bite of this fruit would determine if her humanity had truly been restored, or if her curse had carried over into the afterlife as punishment for her sins. A flip of a coin, and Irene was nervous to receive the results.

There was no sense in delaying them any longer so the woman took a tentative bite of the apple, her teeth penetrating its firm flesh. The texture of it was familiar—fruit had been the only thing she could stomach back when she first discovered her senses had been dulled—but the woman startled at the juice that poured onto her tongue, one that carried a quality she'd long forgotten.

_Sweetness._

Irene gave a start at her tongue's recognition of the watery, pleasant flavor. She could taste it—she could actually _taste_ it—

An unexpected burst of emotion rushed through her with an intensifying heat, taking her by surprise. Irene had to turn her back to the food merchant so he couldn't see the tears of joy welling in her eyes.

She cradled the apple with trembling hands, fighting the urge to devour it right then and there. There weren't enough words to express her surprise, her _relief_. It'd been _centuries_ since she last tasted anything; ever since that dragon seed claimed her body, eating had been an unexciting, rather depressing experience. It didn't matter what she ate; in the end, everything had been nothing but bland mounds in her mouth, varying only in texture. But now...now she could actually enjoy eating again! The dragon seed was gone, rotting away with her expired vessel on Earthland. And if the seed was gone, that must've meant...that could only mean...

_I'm human. I'm __**free. **_

A single tear rolled down her cheek.

….

When the merchant refused to give her another apple_—__("That'll cost ya," he said, leering at her ample cleavage. "Luckily, I accept nonmonetary payment")__—_Irene left the village. There was no sense in dwelling there; not when its denizens clearly didn't trust her. No one would give her the information she sought, and she had no interest in idling among their tattered, disheveled ranks.

On her way out, she noted the scruffy, repulsive-looking men eyeing her from the shadows of the alleyways. Like this town, there was nothing appealing about them: missing teeth, ungroomed hair, grotesque scars, unfriendly faces. Irene intentionally met one of the men's eyes, prompting him to break into a preying, toothless smile. Any other woman would've cowered at his lewd interest, but Irene didn't so much as bristle at it. In those years leading up to her dragon transformation, her traitorous husband had stripped her and tied her to a cross before raising it in the town square, making a public display out of her nakedness. She'd endured attentions far worse than this ruffian's.

Apparently, her reaction came as a shock to him because surprise flashed across his face, as brief as lightning. That surprise immediately curdled to menace, his smile cruel with eyes promising violence. Irene felt no alarm—she was incapable of fearing such a minor threat.

She headed for the treeline, well aware of the eyes following her. She was thankful when she was once again enveloped by forest, the villages' distasteful structures—and people—disappearing from view. Once she put enough distance between them, she called to her Eye Magic for the second time that day, cuing the giant eyeball to cast its shadow over the world. Everything in its radius became visible to her, including the village.

A chuckle escaped Irene's lips as she beheld the people's reactions. They were staring and pointing up at the sky, some in complete awe while others in complete panic. Since this was their second time seeing the red eye—once right before Irene appeared, and once directly after she departed—they would no doubt associate it with the red-haired woman.

Good.

Fear was power and power meant control. As long as Irene gave them a reason to be afraid of her, they would not oppose the authority she'd soon have over them. However, that was not her reason for summoning the Eye. She knew where she could find food, but there was still the matter of shelter…

_There. _Irene zeroed in on a shabby wooden rooftop, one that stood alone in a forest glade miles away from the village. _That will suffice_, the woman decided with a hint of satisfaction.

….

Hyperaware of how cheap her shoes were, Irene flew to the clearing to save herself the frustration of having worthless shoes. One measly enchantment was all it'd take to improve their horrid quality, but she was saving her power to put toward her new home's renovation. She didn't know how much work she needed to put into it—a lot, if the condition of the village was any indication—but one thing was absolutely certain: she would _not_ spend her immortality squatting in that decayed husk of a building. As the Queen of Dragons, she'd resided in a castle and as a member of Alvarez's elite, she'd owned property in the empire's most prosperous regions. She refused to let the afterlife's caste system reduce her to such a miserable livelihood, to deny her the luxury she deserved. Her resolve did not waver, even when she beheld her future home up close.

When Irene's sandaled feet met the moist grass of the clearing, she couldn't help but recoil at the rotten structure that sprawled before her. It was in an even worse condition than she thought.

The shack was shrouded by weeds as high as her legs and covered with green of another kind—algae, Irene noted as her eyes traced the earthy stains up to the roof. Speaking of the roof, some of its scalloped shingles were missing and the ones that remained had long been claimed by moss. The rest of the building didn't look any better: bits of the walls had crumbled away, the windows were gone, the door was barely hanging on to its hinges...

Irene shook her head. This would not do.

Although disgusted, she was not dismayed by the broken, battered husk of a structure. Its decayed state would be easy to remedy. But before she got to work, she needed to make herself a new enchantment tool.

Her gaze swept across the clearing, settling on a tangle of fallen tree limbs. She picked through the pile of branches, choosing the sturdiest among them. Appeased, Irene ran her nails down the length of the branch, noting its smooth grain. Yes, this would do nicely.

While the wood was making contact with her palm, Irene sent lines of magic coursing through it, elongating the limb to a height that exceeded her own. A second enchantment made the tip branch into two curved halves, resembling a crab's claw. The staff she'd used in the World of the Living had had an identical design, one she found to be most effective. With its razor-sharp antlers and the help of a strength spell, it made for an excellent weapon as well as an enchantment enhancer.

The weight and shape of the staff came as a comfort. The familiarity of it gave her a deep sense of security, one that counteracted the foreignness of this strange new world.

Now that she had the wood to amplify her magic, Irene turned to face the shack with renewed ambition, an array of ideas dancing in her mind. Now, where to begin...?

….

The first stage of the remodeling process began on a note of indecisiveness, as Irene couldn't decide how she wanted to design her new home. Her first instinct was to create something in the likeness of her estate in Alvarez, but that architectural style wouldn't match the village's and Irene wanted to maintain a system of visual harmony.

In the end, she chose the village's traditional style. With a few simple enchantments, she restored the wooden walls to their original condition and expanded them to make the interior more spacious. The process itself was easy; the challenging part was deciding how she wanted those walls repositioned. She experimented with several floor plans, rearranging the structure of new house until she settled on a pagoda-style layout.

Once she was satisfied with her work, she sighed in relief. "Well, now that that's done, I believe it's time to take a break," she pointedly announced, keeping her back turned to the trees. "Perhaps the suspicious large creatures hiding in the bushes would like to join me." It was not an invitation, but an order—one directed at the souls that'd been spying on her for the past hour.

The rustling in the buses came to a standstill; her unwelcome guests were weighing their options.

"Don't bother running," Irene said casually, "make that mistake, and you'll find that I'm not one to be defied."

There was a prolonged pause, followed by the frantic rustling of leaves. Irene half-turned in the direction of the sound, accessing the two figures that emerged. They were children, both of them. The young man looked no older than seventeen while the girl half-hidden behind him was roughly thirteen or fourteen—in appearance, at least. Like the other townsfolk, their garments were little more than rags, torn and threadbare. While the boy was staring at Irene in poorly concealed defiance, the girl was clearly frightened, her visible eye brimming with fear.

"Now, what to do with you," Irene made a show of pondering, turning around to fully face them. "You should know that there are three kinds of people I despise most: liars, thieves, and spies."

The boy scowled and the girl whimpered audibly. It was so easy to get a reaction out of them, Irene nearly smirked. "Seeing that you're at my mercy, you'd be wise to give me what I want."

The boy bared his teeth. "Which is?" he growled, speaking at last.

Irene's face went serious. "Information."

Surprise flashed across the children's faces; they clearly hadn't been expecting such a mild request. "You see, I'm a newcomer," she went on to explain, casually tapping on a nearby rock with her staff. It transformed into a stool, one which she perched on. "And I don't fully understand the dynamics of this world. I would greatly appreciate it if you could give me some insight."

An order disguised as a request. The children must've understood this because they nodded tentatively, looking bewildered by her casual display of magic. This time, Irene did smirk. It was easy to get a reaction out of them.

"What do you want to know?" the boy asked slowly. Some of the tension had melted from his shoulders, but not much. He and the girl continued to stand stiff as statues, hovering a safe distance away. They were afraid of her and honestly, Irene wouldn't have it any other way. Fear had the tendency to loosen lips.

Irene pondered the question. There were so many things she wanted to ask, but she'd build up to them. For now... ""What is this strange world?" she asked significantly, curiosity heightened. "What is it called? Surely the afterlife has a proper name."

The young man stared at her strangely, quirking a suspicious eyebrow. "The shinigami who gave you your ticket should've told you."

"Shinigami?" repeated Irene, straightening at its mention. _Death gods._ ""Are they the ruling power in this world?" She needed to know who exactly she was dealing with.

The girl hummed in affirmation. "You won't see much of them though," she weakly chimed in, "They live all the way in the Seireitei." Irene pinned her with a penetrating stare, and she wilted under the weight of it.

"The Seireitei," said Irene, testing the word on her tongue. The shinigami's domain. Interesting. "Is it far from here?"

The young man gave a noncommittal shrug. "None of us knows the exact distance. It doesn't matter, anyway. You'd never survive the journey. And if you did by some stroke of luck, you'd never make it past the wall."

The girl nodded feverishly. "The gatekeeper would cut you down on the spot!"

Irene raised an eyebrow. "For the Seireitei to be such a forbidden place, you speak as if you've been there."

The young man laughed bitterly. "Trust me, out of all the places in the Soul Society, the Seireitei's the last place you want to end up. I've heard more than enough stories to know the shinigami are monsters."

_The Soul Society_, Irene noted. A befitting name for the afterlife.

"It beats living here," the girl said in a small whisper, looking down as she said this.

Irene recalled the village, how decayed and worn-down it was. How poverty-stricken the villagers were. Irene might've taken pity on them in another life but now, she didn't feel even a shred of emotion. If anything, she cared more about the shinigami. "The shinigami...what kind of magic do they have?" she asked, intrigued. They might've had centuries to hone their powers, but so had Irene. She was confident that her magic was equal to theirs.

"Magic?" the boy repeated, both eyebrows shooting up. "You mean their reiryoku?"

Now it was Irene's turn to look puzzled. "Reiryoku?" She searched her archives of knowledge, and found no remembrance of the term. It was extremely foreign to her.

"Yes. All shinigami can convert their spiritual essence into reiryoku."

Much like wizards could translate their ethernano into magic. "What can they achieve with it?" she asked, intrigued.

The boy shrugged. "From what I've heard, they can use their reiryoku to boost their speed and strength. Their reiryoku lets them use special swords, too."

"So reiryoku has offensive purposes only?" pressed Irene.

"For the most part. I don't think the shinigami can do anything like..._that_," the boy replied, gesturing toward Irene's grand house. He was referring to her enchantments. From the sounds of it, that was one of the few advantages Irene had over the shinigami. She refused to let them oppress her, so she would have to become stronger. "How does one obtain the power you speak of?" she asked hungrily.

"You don't. They say everyone has a certain amount of reiryoku; the shinigami are just people who were born with higher levels. People without a significant amount of it are powerless and deemed worthless. That's why the shinigami have walled themselves off from everyone else," the boy explained, not bothering to mask the bitterness in his voice.

Irene perked up at this. "So everyone in the village is powerless?" she asked eagerly.

The boy narrowed his eyes as if catching whiff of her ambitious spirit. "For the most part. There are a few people who have above-average levels of reiryoku but they don't know how to release it as energy, also known as reiatsu."

Irene tucked that bit of information in the forefront of her mind. "How can one tell if they have a sufficient level of reiryoku?"

The boy didn't answer right away. "Hunger," he replied after a moment, eyeing Irene oddly. Probably remembering how she devoured that apple in the village.

Behind him, the girl fidgeted. Irene cocked her head to one side, detecting their discomfort. "Do either of you get hungry?" she asked curiously.

They both looked down. That was all the confirmation Irene needed.

She didn't press the subject, and instead asked a few questions about the organization of the Soul Society. She listened with rapt attention as the boy talked about Rukongai and its inner divisions. Apparently, the village was formally known as District 52. The girl made a few contributions, meekly adding on to her friend's explanations about the divide of power in the district. From what Irene could tell, those men that'd leered at her in the village belonged to the gang of violent fearmongers that controlled the district. The children cautioned her against confronting them, but Irene disregarded the warning. Those men were weak, lacking both magic and reiryoku. They would be easy to whip into line.

Once she heard all she'd needed to hear, Irene rose from her seat. "As much I enjoyed our little chat, I'm afraid it's time for us to go our separate ways." She lifted her face toward the sky, noting its deepening color. Night would soon be upon them, and she did not want to squander the little daylight she had left. "There's much work to be done and unless you're willing to be of use, I suggest you run along."

….

Irene spent the next day remodeling her new home. Once she'd finished sculpting its exterior—a single story mansion in the Japanese style—she resolved to reinvent its interior. Since she'd stretched out the walls, the invading filth was less widespread, but there was still grime and trash scattered throughout. Instead of manually cleaning the space herself, Irene used an enchantment to turn a handful of stones into a smattering of quiet, plain-faced servants.

While they busied themselves with her dirty work, Irene sat back and let her ethernano replenish itself. It confused her, how she was able to regain her magic power at all. Seeing that magic didn't exist in this realm of existence, she shouldn't have been able to recover even a sliver of her power, yet her ethernano was building up at the rate it'd always had. Make no mistake: Irene was far from displeased by this favorable outcome, but it was still strange to her.

She didn't dwell on it as she watched her new staff go on with their work, quiet as mice. Their extended cleaning session took place over the course of two additional days, finally ending by nightfall on the third. Once she dismissed her helpers, returning them to their stone states, she occupied herself with the interior decoration of her newly sanitized mansion. Having slept outside for the past two days, she prioritized her living quarters over the rest of the house.

Despite her lack of currency to buy fabric (if the condition of the village was anything to go by, she doubted there was any for sell to begin with) ,she had plenty of it to work with thanks to an attempted ambush a day prior. Those ruffians from the village had decided they wanted to take turns with the town's busty new redhead, so they tracked her down with the intention of defiling her. Unfortunately for them, Irene had been one step ahead of them. After she enchanted all of them into mice, she took their kimonos, washed them, and cut them into small swathes so she could enchant each one separately.

She used them to create curtains, rugs, and bedding for her new sleeping quarters. Fallen tree limbs became polished furniture and decorations, all of it done in the Alvarez style. Once she was satisfied with her latest changes, she washed up with the water one of her "servants" had collected from the stream, changed into a newly enchanted robe, and settled into her new bed.

There, she reviewed the latest happenings from her death to her entrance into the Soul Society. The last time her life had taken such a dramatic turn was when her whole kingdom turned its back on her.

These events were fresh on her mind when her eyelids grew heavy and she slipped into the best sleep she'd had in over four hundred years.

….

She dedicated the next few days to sleep, regaining the strength she'd put toward her past enchantments.

She woke up every few hours to make sure her newly claimed property hadn't been invaded and when she returned to her bed, it was almost frightening how quickly she succumbed to sleep. And her dreams—she'd completely forgotten what it was like to have them. Images of Belserion danced behind her eyelids whenever she closed them, a tidal wave of memories sweeping her away. She half-expected him to be at her side when she awoke, faithfully awaiting her command. Tragically, empty space flanked her bed every time. She didn't let his permanent absence darken her spirit; this was not the time to be depressed. Not when she had a village to take over.

She rose early in the morning, making sure to create one of the finest kimonos the villagers had ever seen. Once she was clothed in her exquisite finery, she took up her staff and made for the village.

The townspeople looked surprised to see her, but Irene paid them no mind. Following the directions those children had given her, she found her way to the rotten, run-down building in the center of town.

The inside, as she expected, was populated by more of those scummy men and a few cheap-looking women. Everyone—the men especially—stared at Irene with a mixture of surprise and predatory amusement, clearly not anticipating what was to happen next.

Irene returned their looks with a slow, confident smile. "My name is Irene Belserion," she announced, taking a single step inside. "And from now on, you all belong to me."

….

_A few weeks later__…_

"Good morning, Irene-sama!"

"Lovely day we're having, Irene-sama!"

"You're as beautiful as ever, Irene-sama!"

Irene barely heeded their groveling forms as she took a morning stroll through the village. Ever since she became the self-proclaimed leader of the district, she'd made an appearance only twice before. There was really no need for her to frequent in these parts; her all-seeing eye was the single most effective tool when it came to keeping the townspeople under surveillance.

She'd shown herself today because she wanted to be reminded of what it was like to admired. To be _feared. _

She didn't rule District 52 the way she'd ruled Dragnof; how naïve she'd been to show so much compassion and affection for her people. That'd earned her nothing but a stab in the back, in the heart.

Her rule over the district was far more effective. If the villagers didn't obey her commands, they paid the price. Simple as that .Irene didn't care whether the people liked her or not—she didn't want their love, only their obedience. That was all that mattered.

Speaking of obedience, Irene was far from ignorant of the fact she was violating this world's obvious caste system. As a newcomer to the Soul Society, it was a breach of policy for her to have dictation over District 5t. But Irene didn't care. She'd been a queen in her past life, and she would be a queen in this one. She resolved to conquer as many districts as she pleased and wouldn't stop until she was satisfied. She figured it was only a matter of time before the shinigami became aware of her presence, but she didn't care. If they were going to seek her out, let them. She'd deal with them when that time came.

….

That time came a few days later.

It was nighttime, and Irene was sitting in front of her crackling hearth, letting the flame chase away the cold that'd tried to crept in from outside. She was reading from one of her newly acquired scrolls when a voice called to her from outside.

"Attention! You have been found guilty of conspiring against the governing powers of the Soul Society and are hereby under arrest," a feminine, authoritative voice yelled, her voice competing with the roaring of the fire. "Surrender yourself, or the Onmitsukidō will be forced to take action."


End file.
